HOMECOMING
by tudorrose33
Summary: When we love and we find our soul-mate, we "come home" in the truest sense of the words. A series of short stories based on the relationship between Grace Carter and Roland Brett. The rating may shift to an M in subsequent stories.
1. Chapter 1

_When we love and we find our soul-mate, we "come home" in the truest sense of the words. This is the first in a series of short stories on that theme, told from the perspective of Grace Carter and Roland Brett. Later stories will be M rating, but for now it's a T. I really hope you enjoy reading it._

1.

The sun shone through the window pane, dust motes dancing in its beams, as she looked beyond to the garden. It was not yet 9 o'clock, but the day promised to be as hot as the one before it had been. The morning room already felt oppressively warm and she raised the back of her hand to her forehead to push her hair back from her face. It was strange not having to get up for anything, knowing that there would be no more convoys of wounded. She turned her head absently and looked at the letter on the mantelpiece, its handwriting so achingly familiar. She had not yet been able to open it: she was frightened to. She, who had been frightened of nothing that the enemy could do, was frightened to open a letter. Her letter to him had been full of details of her life now, a life without him, and yet he was as much a part of it as he had ever been, at least in her heart. The great unspoken truth had been hidden between its lines of everyday information; the truth that she loved him and always had; that she needed him and always would; that she missed him with a pain which was visceral.

"Oh God, why am I doing this? It will avail me nothing. He's married and I'm not. He doesn't think of me that way; I'm just a former colleague, someone he used to talk with and who shared the war years with him."

Her words were aimed at no one in particular, but it helped to say them out loud, as if the force of articulation in some way made the reality of her impossible situation easier to bear. She drew on that inner reserve of strength that had always been there for her and roused herself from the thoughts which threatened to overwhelm her. "The work saves us," she had once said and she was right.

She set about her daily chores and knew that there was no hurry today because she would not be at the cottage hospital until tomorrow. Washing, dusting, tidying and cooking were on the agenda for today. Then she would sit in the garden and read in the sun-dappled shade of the afternoon. The cottage was in a pretty spot, hewn from the surrounding steeply wooded hillside to the north and east, and looking south and west to the water meadows adjoining the stream which cascaded down from the rocky slopes beneath the trees. She was so absorbed in her tasks and deep in her thoughts that she nearly missed the gentle knock at the door. Wiping her hands on a towel, she went to the solid wood front door and pulled to open it. It was a little stiff as the heat had slightly warped it. She gave it another tug and it flew open. She nearly drowned beneath the wave of emotion, which washed over her, and her breath caught in her throat, choking the words she wanted to say.

"Hello, Grace." She looked at him and still the words would not form. The seconds ticked by. "May I come in? It's rather hot out here."

She metaphorically shook herself. "Of course; I'm so sorry, I'm just so surprised to see you."

He entered the cool interior of the hall and she took his jacket and hung it up, looking at him over her shoulder, tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear.

"Come in, please; sit down. Let me get you a cold drink. I've just made some lemonade."

"That would be most welcome; thank you."

He walked behind her into the morning room, taking in its homely warmth.

"This is beautiful, Grace, and what a lovely situation you have here. It's so light and airy."

"Thank you. Please, take a seat Roland. I'll just get your drink."

Smiling, she went to the kitchen leaving him alone. As she reached the table, she gripped its edges for support. He was here in her home; he had come to see her. She could feel her heart beat in her throat and forced herself to breathe slowly to calm down.

Whilst she was in the kitchen, he sat back in one of the comfortable armchairs by the fireplace and then he spotted it; his letter on the mantelpiece. She returned with a tray of fresh lemonade and homemade Shrewsbury biscuits, which she placed in front of him and poured him a glass of the cool, refreshing drink. He took it from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a second, with a touch of almost electrical intensity, as their eyes met.

"You didn't open it."

His turn now to be surprised.

"No, I haven't had time to open it yet. Please have your drink."

Her words, even to her ears, sounded like a feeble excuse, which of course they were.

"In a minute. Open it now; please, Grace. I need you to read it. It's why I'm here."

She approached the mantelpiece and removed the envelope, taking it down and opening it with trembling fingers.

"Read it, please; it's addressed to you and I wrote it, so no confidences are betrayed."

"Of course not," she said woodenly.

She unfolded the paper and read under his watchful gaze.

_"Grace, my darling, for that is what you are to me; I received your letter today, after what have seemed like endless days of waiting. I read every word, over and over again, hearing your voice in each phrase, and I knew with total certainty that you are as vital to me as the air that I breathe. I have to see you, Grace, to explain, and should be with you by 10 o'clock Tuesday morning. I have wasted so much time; forgive me if my haste at this point appears unseemly, but I cannot tolerate another moment away from you. I see now that I am "home", with painful clarity, that there is no home for me without you. I love you and always have; I need you and always will. Until Tuesday then, my love, I am your ever devoted, Roland."_

Her brain refused to process his words, but the paper fell from Grace's fingers and fluttered to the ground. She turned to him, her gaze steady, but her heart wildly beating once more. Whilst she had been reading his letter, he had risen from the armchair and moved closer to her. His proximity was playing havoc with her emotions.

"You love me?" she asked.

"Yes."

One word, yet the answer to everything she felt she had ever wanted to know.

"Do you love me, Grace?"

She nodded, wordlessly answering his question.

"Say it, Grace; I need to hear you say it."

Seconds passed like hours until she said,

"I love you, Roland."

"Why did you not open my letter?"

"Because I love you."

"How so?"

"I couldn't bear to hear about your life and no longer be a part of it. I was waiting until I was strong enough to read it without wanting to cry at the injustice that gave you to Hetty, who doesn't love you, and not to me, who does."

He held out his arms and she came quietly into the circle of his embrace, as if it was the most natural place for her to be, which in a sense it was. He rested his forehead against hers.

"I felt the same, Grace, and it was no easier for me being apart from you, especially knowing that you were not married. It made it worse. There was nothing to hold me back from you, save my own misplaced sense of duty."

"What are you saying, Roland?"

"I'm saying that I'm here because I love you, only you."

She raised her hand tremblingly, in wonderment, to his face and moved forward to kiss him as lightly as thistledown floating in a gentle breeze. He was rendered momentarily motionless as her lips brushed his and then he bent his head, as her mouth opened beneath his, and he poured his years of longing into a kiss of unimaginable passion. The floodgates opened and he swept her off her feet uttering only one word,

"Where?"

She broke the kiss for a second, holding his face in her hands,

"You want me?"

"I want you, Grace. I must have you."

"Upstairs."

He carried her to the staircase and up to her bedroom, pushing open the door and placing her gently on the embroidered coverlet. Her arms wound round his neck as she pulled him down to her, to kiss him as she had dreamt of doing, evening after evening, lying in this very bed. Her body arched into him and he lost all semblance of control, tearing at her clothes and his at one and the same time, until they were naked, his need for her as obvious as hers for him, as she pressed up against him, murmuring words he could not hear, but their meaning made plain by the look in her eyes and the movement of her body. He knelt up and rested her legs either side of his hips, bending forward to cradle her face and to whisper that he wanted her, had longed for her. She encircled his waist with her legs, tilting her hips up towards him, all sense of propriety vanished like the morning dew, her pleasure vocalised as he eased into her. Mere minutes later he lay in her arms, spent and damp, but still firmly embedded within her as her body gently pulsed around him.

"Grace, forgive me. I behaved like a brute in my need for you. I was selfish in taking my pleasure, but I never knew such closeness was possible and I have hungered for you."

"There is nothing to forgive. You never took anything; I gave myself to you because I love you and, as for closeness, well, you've never truly known me before," she smiled at him.

"And now that I do, I will never let you go again."

He kissed her hard, unable to keep his feelings under control, smoothing back the hair from her forehead, as he looked down at her with passion. She revelled in it.

"I am not going anywhere," she replied, as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

"You will never know how hard it was to watch you return here; to let you go, see you disappear in front of me with the realisation that I had just let my only hope for a happy future escape me. I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn't offer you anything except my love, so how could I ask a woman like you to give up everything to become my lover?"

"The same way you did today. You've made love to me, and there is nothing I care about in life more than you. I can deny you nothing."

"I want never to go back, Grace. I knew when I set out that my life would change forever and it has."

"You have no need to go back. You've come home, Roland."

He gently stirred within her and, as he saw her eyes darken once more and felt her arms close about him, he knew she was right.


	2. Chapter 2

_This has taken a while to write because I've been concentrating on "Faith, Hope and Love". There are other one-shots planned but, for now, I hope this will suffice. Roland and Grace finally confront their feelings for each other as they leave Field Hospital 25A. Please review if you can spare a moment. Lavender and Hay, I hope you enjoy it. XX_

2.

"Have you got everything, Grace? We shan't be coming back."

His jocular tone belied the sadness he felt at leaving Field Hospital 25A. He was sad only because he had met her here and now it was over and he had not had the courage to tell her how he felt. He had insisted on driving her with him to the port so that they could travel on the ferry transport together. At least then, he could steal a few more hours, talk to her and drive her to her destination. He had recognised right from the start that he was hopelessly in love with Grace Carter, but he could never tell her. A woman like Grace would not cast her bonnet over the fence to be the mistress of a Lieutenant Colonel, or any man for that matter. She deserved more, a full commitment; marriage, a home and perhaps children. How could he give her those when he was married, or more truly chained, to another woman already?

"I've got everything, Sir," she replied. "There wasn't much to start with."

"Same here. Well, hop in and we'll be on our way. The transport won't wait for us and I expect you're keen to get home."

He extended his hand to take hers as she looked at him and answered, "Not really, Colonel."

"Grace, of course you are and, after all we have been through, I think that you, of all people, should call me by my given name."

"No I'm not and, very well, Roland."

She smoothed her skirt over her knees and looked straight ahead at the road, which would take her away from all she had known and loved for the past five years. The engine fired and he started to move away from the place which he had viewed as home and looked briefly across at the woman who had shared it with him and become his emotional sanctuary from the worst of the war. Her gaze was unwavering and fixed on some point ahead of her so she did not see the pain which flitted across his face.

"Why aren't you keen to get home, Grace?"

"No reason you'd be able to understand, Roland."

"Try me; I'm a good listener."

"After five years of sitting with you in the evening, I know that better than most," she smiled. "It's hard to explain, that's all."

"Come on, Grace. You can do better than that. This is me, your friend."

"I know; that's the point. You're my friend."

"What do you mean?"

"You're my friend and I….," Grace's voice caught in her throat and she could not continue. Tears threatened to over-spill and she furiously blinked them back.

He pulled the car over and killed the engine.

"Grace, what's wrong?"

The tears came then, pouring down her cheeks.

Pure instinct took over and he held her to him, cradling her as if she was the most fragile porcelain, and gently kissing the top of her hair. She felt his lips on her head and wordlessly raised her face to look into his eyes. He looked down at her slightly parted lips and, hesitating only for a split second, bent his head to claim them, his mouth moving over hers, his tongue easing gently, oh so gently, into her mouth, as she opened like a flower in the warmth of the sun. They broke apart breathlessly for a few seconds and then he pulled her to him and seized her mouth once more; pouring every ounce of feeling he had into his kiss. She moaned against him and pressed into his arms, as if she wanted to burrow into him and stay there forever. Seconds became minutes as his hands roamed her body through her uniform, familiarising himself with the feel of curves he had wanted to touch each day, but had never done so until now. The path from her jaw to her collar bone, the swell of her breast, the catch of her waist as it flared into her hip, the gentle sweep at the top of her thighs, all these were now his to wander at will. Grace relished the firmness of his body beneath her hands. The slight scrape of his chin against her skin, the hardness of his chest beneath the rough wool of his jacket, the strength of his hands as they held hers and the heat from the now clearly visible sign of his need for her. He groaned as she touched him through his trousers and stilled the movement of her hand.

"Grace, my love, my sweetheart, we have to stop. The transport will not wait for us."

"Am I your love?"

"Of course you are. I have loved you for years and now all I want is to make that a reality, but our first time will not be on the side of a French road, no matter how much I yearn for your touch and to know the joy we can give each other."

"So, there is an "us" at the end of this road?"

"Did you ever doubt it?"

"I suppose I did. You never said, but I hoped that you felt something for me."

"Oh Grace, if only you knew the sleepless nights I've had for love of you and I was dreading today, for every part of me wanted to tell you, but I thought the sacrifices it would entail for you would be too great."

"What sacrifices?"

"Your professional and personal standing to name only two."

"And you seriously think they are more important to me than your love? Oh Roland, what shall I do with you?"

He smiled at her and held her hand to his lips.

"I can name at least one thing. Come we must move if we're to get that transport."

He fired the engine once more and eased the car back onto the road. Having re-joined the route to the port, he reached for her hand across the seat and raised it to his mouth before letting it rest atop his on the steering wheel, but not for long. Grace felt it too conspicuous to be holding her commanding officer's hand in such a visible place albeit that his command of her was now more emotional than practical. Nevertheless, she did not want to break the contact between them. He sensed her dilemma and took her hand, placing it on top of his thigh. The heat from his body smouldered against her skin through the coarse wool, so aware was she of him. Her fingers gently traced spirals across the tough army issue material as her mind struggled to come to terms with the sudden shift in their relationship. Five years of friendship consumed by five minutes of passionate conflagration. It was all too much to process and, for him, her unconscious movement against his thigh was altogether too much to withstand.

"Grace, darling, you don't know what you are doing to me. Stop before I run us off the road."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"I'm sorry, too, but I am thinking…. of all the wrong things."

She smiled at him.

"I don't believe you capable of thinking the wrong things, Roland."

"For you I would, and I do. You have no idea how often I've wanted you to stay with me, to hold me, to love me."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd have done anything for you; I still would."

"Would you, truly?"

"Yes, anything." Her eyes shone as she confirmed her love for him in two simple words.

"Let me take you home and, when we get there, make love with me."

Grace's heart pounded and she felt her physical response to his words. "Yes."

"We have to embark, but don't leave my side. There's so much to say."

He held her hand tightly as she descended the car and he removed their bags from the back of the vehicle.

"Come, we can find somewhere to sit away from the hoi polloi."

A few minutes later they were seated, out of the wind, in the shelter created by the bridge on the port side. It was a tiny space, set back far enough to keep warm, big enough only for two people and it was theirs for the next few hours. He had collected two blankets to keep them warm, which he stored behind them until they were needed. Their bodies touched from shoulder to ankle as they turned to each other, faces so close that they almost could not focus. Pulling back slightly, they looked in wonderment at the joy of a love shared, reflected in each other's eyes. She could feel his breath on her mouth.

"Grace, I'm on fire for you," he whispered. His hand took hers, hidden from view by her coat.

She shyly looked down and replied, "This is worse than anything I could imagine. You see I want you more than ever and now I have to wait until we are home."

He stroked her hand running his fingers inside her cuff to touch the skin at her wrist, massaging the pulse point with his thumb. It was the most powerfully erotic sensation, coupled with a gaze, the promise of which was positively incendiary. In the privacy of their hiding place he ran his thumb across her lips, which parted and caressed, drawing his thumb momentarily inwards so that her tongue could curl around him, gradually easing away once more to finish with a kiss. He was completely undone.

"I have never felt such longing for another person, my Grace. You are everything to me." His hand touched her cheek.

"Roland, please, I can't bear this. You command me body and soul, yet I can find no rest or respite from the desire which overwhelms me. Your wife…"

"My wife is one in name only and we barely speak. I have no home and no wife beyond the one I see here before me."

"Roland, is it truly so?"

"It is, my love. You must have realised over the time we've spent together that I never spoke of her."

"I did, but it was not my place to draw conclusions. I will own that I did hope, though. Was that so wrong of me, when I felt such love for you?"

"No, sweetheart, it wasn't wrong. When we set sail, people will retreat indoors and we can cover ourselves with the blankets. No one will notice us and I can hold you. No one will query a supporting arm around your waist out here, if indeed they venture out."

She tightened her grip on his hand in response.

"Roland, I love you so deeply. I could not bear to lose you now."

"You won't. Can you imagine how I have felt every day, wanting you and not knowing if you felt anything for me beyond friendship? I was terrified of offending or compromising you; I was a coward. It took you to breakdown before I was man enough to admit my feelings."

"You're no coward. You're a man of honour. That's why you said nothing. I was weak and simply could no longer fight what I felt."

"Then thank God for weakness for I would have lost you otherwise."

"I doubt that, for I believe a love as strong as ours would have surfaced at some future point, don't you?"

"True, but more wasted time would have been the result. Rest against me, we're pulling off at last."

As the transport eased away from the shore, Grace thought of the time they had spent in France. It would always be the place which had brought them together and would occupy a special point in her heart for that.

Roland looked down at her, nestling in the shelter of his arms and he knew that this was the culmination of his search for contentment. The wind had increased in force and he had removed his cap and Grace her hat. He noticed that the deck was now devoid of people and felt safe to raise her face to his, softly kissing her mouth, which promised so much. He wrapped the blankets across them so that their bodies were hidden from view and eased her against him, stroking her arms and waist. Grace pressed herself closely to him, as she felt the heat of her physical response course through her. The throbbing at her centre was impossible to ignore. She wanted him to touch her and he knew this from the darkening of her eyes and the movement of her hands reaching for his, beneath the blankets.

"Grace? May I?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, her voice shaking with desire. His hand pressed her legs open through her skirt, and cupped the place at the top of her thighs, which was crying out for his attention. Slowly he touched her, so that the deliberate friction would enable her to find some release. She looked at him, silently begging him to bring her to completion. He stroked up and down, easing his fingers deeper against the cloth barrier and further into her, until he felt her shudder against his hand and cling to him. He wanted to take her right there and then and seek relief from the pressure building in his groin, but it was impossible. He groaned in frustration.

"Roland, darling, are you alright?"

"As alright as I can be without joining you on the same path you've just travelled. I want you so much. Feel."

He took her hand and pressed it against his arousal. She ran her fingers along his length, trapped by trousers and undershorts, but stopped as his sharp intake of breath told her he could not withstand her attention.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to make it worse for you. I simply want to give you the same as you gave me."

"That will have to wait, my love, but will be all the sweeter when it eventually happens. As long as you are happy, that is all I care about."

"I am happier than I think I have ever been. I'm just terrified that this will be snatched from me."

"Not if I can help it! I couldn't bear to lose you either. You were made for me, Grace. I wish I had met you years ago, but I'll settle for whatever time I have left with you."

She smiled at him and, raising her hand, cupped his face in her palm.

"You make me complete. Take me home and we can be together."

He pulled her tightly into him and pressed his lips urgently against her hair, tucking back a stray tendril behind her ear.

"Your wish is my command."

Many exhausting hours later, Roland pulled up in front of a whitewashed, double fronted Georgian house. They had finally arrived at Grace's home. Helping her down from the car, he retrieved the bags from the rear seats, whilst she opened the front door. He brought in the bags and dumped them unceremoniously on the hall floor, standing just inside the front door.

"Don't stand there; come in, Roland. I'm so glad you're here." Grace took his hand and led him in, shutting the door behind them. "Tea?"

"That would be good, but have you got any?"

"The kitchen was re-stocked with basics by the maid so there should be some. Come on, you can help."

He followed her to the kitchen at the rear of the house and found it to be warm and welcoming. Grace checked in one of the cupboards and found there was plenty of tea in the caddy and there was a jug of fresh milk in the pantry.

"Here, take these and put them on the table. I'll do the rest. You can sit and watch."

"I'm not used to taking orders from my subordinates."

"I'm not your subordinate any longer. In this house, I'm the mistress."

"And in my heart you're the mistress, too."

She looked at him.

"Perhaps that is all I'll ever be, but I'll take it willingly."

"Oh Grace, you're everything and more."

His gaze was intense as he said this and she blushed, hiding her awkwardness by busying herself with the kettle and range and preparing their tea, which they took in the sitting room. The curtains were drawn and the fire was leaping in the grate as Grace took his cup and saucer from him and put them on the table before them. Roland reached for her and she slid easily into his embrace, returning his kiss as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to be together on her sofa whereas, less than twenty four hours earlier, such a thing would have been a mere fantasy.

"And now, my darling, I'm going to do what I've wanted to for so long."

Something flickered across his eyes; it was desire. She eased herself across his lap and sat astride him on the sofa, her hands reaching down to unbutton his trousers. He groaned, like he had before, as her hand touched and encircled him. She could feel his flesh respond and she smiled at him as she moved her hand so softly up and down his length. His hands moved to caress her. He unfastened her top and corset so that her breasts spilt into his hands, her skin as soft as he had imagined and responsive beyond his wildest dreams. He bent to capture her nipple in his mouth, grazing and laving it, the line between pain and pleasure so delicately balanced, and she pressed into him, wanting the closeness so badly. He pulled her skirts up to reach the waistband of her undergarments, which he ripped apart as he could not wait. Again, she smiled at this outward sign of his need for her and stroked his face, telling him,

"Do nothing else, my love. I want to make love to you."

So saying, she positioned herself over him and slowly eased onto him, taking him inside her inch by inch, loving the feel of the pressure and his heat deep within her. He wanted to move, but she would not let him. Instead, she raised herself until he was almost out of her, and then took him again with a single downwards stroke, over and over again, her head flung back and her breasts offered to him; an offer he seized with open mouth and hands. With each movement of her body, the tension built within her and she could not hold back from telling him how he was making her feel. He kissed her over and over again, driven to a frenzy, watching her drive towards the point of no return, whispering in her ear the things he wanted to do with her, which served only to heighten her excitement. He told her what he wanted; her. Then, suddenly, he moved and pushed her onto the sofa under him, still intimately joined, his arms holding her against him, pressing her hips against him with his hands.

"My turn now." His words were hoarse with longing.

She reached up to kiss him, desperate for him to make her his in every way possible. He thrust into her over and over again, his body unable to hold back for another moment, causing her to lose control. She screamed his name out loud as she tried to pull him even deeper into her, her only reality his body moving inside her as she fell over the rim of the world. He poured himself into this precious vessel beneath him, treasuring every cry, every pulse of her body on his, every grip of her hands on him, and every word of love she uttered.

"Grace, I'll never leave you, I'm home at last." And she knew it to be true.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I hope you enjoy this latest little one-shot. Please review if you have time. **_

3.

"I know that you and I shall always be friends, Grace."

There was an edge to his tone, which did not match the positive quality of his words and, had she not been so wrapped up in her own feelings of desolation, she would have noticed it. She nodded, in response, tight lipped, her smile forced and quavering. He seemed disconcerted by the indirect nature of her response and said,

"Are you alright, Grace? You do want to be friends, don't you? Perhaps I've been presumptuous, but I just assumed, after all we've been through together, that you'd want to keep in touch."

She felt her eyes fill and turned away from him, her body tensing in a vain attempt to stem the flow of tears, hot against the chill of her cheeks. He looked on, horror struck, as he realised from the movement of her shoulders that she was crying.

"Why are you weeping? I didn't mean to make you upset. Oh damn it!"

With that he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. She sobbed onto his jacket, as he murmured words of comfort, and gently stroked her hair back from her face.

"Hush, don't cry, Grace. Whatever it is we can deal with it. Sweetheart, please."

The die was cast. She raised her face from his chest.

"Roland….?" she looked at him through her tears.

Her eyes shone with an intensity he had noticed in the past, but the reasons for which he had, with difficulty, refused to explore. His hands rested on her upper arms as he said,

"Grace, I'm so sorry, I had no right."

"No, don't say that. Please, don't say you're sorry," she shook her head, as if to add weight to her plea.

"Grace, of course I'm sorry. I have no right to your affection. I'm married. I could never compromise your integrity."

"Compromise my integrity? What are you saying?"

Her physical proximity disturbed him and he fought an increasing urge to put her from him, as his self-control was forced towards its limits.

"I'm saying I can't do this."

"Do what, Roland?"

Her expression revealed more of her inner turmoil than any words could have done.

"Love you; I can't love you, Grace."

His grip on her arms tightened and she winced. Immediately, he dropped his arms to his sides, apologetically saying,

"I'm sorry. I've hurt you."

"So, I mean nothing to you, after five years of sharing everything. I mean nothing."

The last words she spoke were delivered slowly, weighted down by the profoundest sense of sorrow, as she struggled to accept that her feelings were not reciprocated, leaving her completely unprepared for what followed.

"God, no! You mean the world to me, my darling. How could you think otherwise?"

He reached for her hand, which she proffered unresistingly, as she explained,

"Because you said you were sorry for calling me 'sweetheart'."

"I'm not sorry for that, Grace. I'm sorry for placing you in an untenable position."

"Roland, the only thing which is untenable is for both of us to go back to our former lives without being honest about our feelings."

"Oh, Grace. I can be honest, but how will it change anything for the better?"

"Be honest, Roland. Trust your instincts. I need to know, whatever it is."

He pulled her into his arms, holding her fast against him, the words spilling from his mouth, as he pressed his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Grace. I've always loved you. There has only ever been you these past five years, but how could I tell you that? What can I give you? I'm married, unhappily married, but nonetheless married.

"Thank you for being honest. At least, I have the truth."

"Oh God; it's finished, isn't it? We can't even be friends now."

"No, you're right, we can't."

He gripped her hands and raised them to his lips.

"Grace, please don't say that. I can't bear it if I lose you, too. Don't walk away, please."

His voice was thick with emotion and she could see that he was as moved as she was. Reaching up, she touched his face.

"You haven't lost me, Roland; you could never lose me. I'm not walking away."

His relief was palpable.

"But you said we can't be friends."

"And I mean it; we can never be friends now. We're so much more to each other than friends, so we can't revert to friendship, but we can be lovers. How could I walk away from the man I love?"

"You would do that?"

"Do what? Love you, you mean. Of course. What else is there for me in this life if I don't have you? So, yes, I would be your lover."

"But I'm still married."

"I know, but how does that change the fact that I love you and I can't see a life without you? It doesn't, Roland. You're the man I love. Do you love your wife?"

"No. We have never loved each other. You're the only woman I have ever loved."

"Then that's enough for me. I would rather be free, be your mistress and have your love, than be trapped in a legal prison without it. Are you shocked?"

"Never shocked, Grace. I'm humbled by your love."

"Do you feel the same way? Will you cross the Rubicon of social custom and convention for me?"

"Without hesitation, my love. I can't conceive of a life apart from you. I love you. I can never go back to the way things were before the war. I was a fool for not telling you this before, but you know now that it was out of love for you that I maintained my silence."

"I love you, too. I have loved you in secret for five years and I am fed up with secrecy. I don't care what anyone thinks anymore; I only care for you."

He took her hand in his and raised her fingers to his lips. She looked at him and saw the love in his eyes.

"Kiss me?"

He looked into her eyes and lost himself in the depths of an unfathomable love as his lips met hers, little more than the lightest brush at first, then returning to seize her mouth, which opened beneath his with an aching sweetness. Kiss after kiss brought them to a point where they had to stop.

"Grace, come to me when evening falls. I must be with you tonight."

Her smile was his answer.

The hours seemed interminably long in their passage. He felt inexplicably nervous as he stood in the semi dark, the reality of the situation sweeping over him.

The knock at the door broke his thoughts and he answered, "Come in."

Grace stepped into the office and quietly shut the door behind her.

"Lock the door, Grace. I'm not expecting anyone else."

She did as he asked and turned to face him. He took a step towards her, her name a spoken caress,

"Grace, you came."

"Did you doubt that I would?"

"I hoped you would, but there was always the chance you might have come to your senses."

"Well, here I am, senseless, as charged!"

He reached for her hand in the gloaming, gently squeezing it, and led her towards his quarters saying quietly,

"You can still go; I'd die inside if you did, but I'd understand."

She pulled against his hand, drawing him to a halt as she came to stand next to him.

"I'm here because I want to be, because I love you, because I want to give myself to you."

He held her tightly.

"I hope I'm enough for you, my love. I haven't lain with a woman for such a long time that I fear I'll be a disappointment to you."

"You could never be that," she said pulling his head down to kiss him, as he pressed her body against his in the darkness, the blood coursing through his veins and replacing his anxiety with the certainty that she was his. Strong hands held her face as his mouth plundered hers with an insistence which swept all in its path, eventually breaking free just long enough to ease her past the door to his quarters, pushing her against it as it closed behind them. She sighed as he feathered kisses down her throat, smoothing the thick cotton of her uniform top as his palm cupped her breast and she pressed into it. His kisses became more passionate, matched by hers in response. He pushed her headdress back and loosened her hair from its pins, spreading it across her shoulders, as he turned his attention to the collar and fastenings of her top. Her fingers trembled as she loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it loose from his trousers, whilst he captured her mouth once more.

Their caresses grew in urgency and they just made it to the bed, falling onto it, as it creaked alarmingly beneath the sudden shock of their combined weight hitting the mattress. They laughed as they kissed, holding each other close, hands roaming freely along the bones of her corset and soft cotton of his singlet. Soon, however, passion seized them both in its fevered grasp, drawing them inexorably on to the point where neither could think beyond the need to join with the other. Roland unhooked her corset, his mouth capturing the dark-tipped, creamy flesh, which spilled from its confines. Grace's response was to cradle his head against her breast as she parted her legs against the insistent pressure from his thigh, wanting more of him as she gasped with the force of her desire. Her hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it and freeing him from his trousers as they both frantically moved to pull undergarments away so that all barriers to their lovemaking were finally removed.

She felt his hands on her and muffled her cries of pleasure against his shoulder, while he teased her sensitised flesh, wanting her to come apart for him. As he felt her ride his palm, he knew she was close. His words, whilst she approached her climax, told her everything she had ever wanted to know and, when her body pulsed, in response, around his fingers, he knew she was finally his, and would be forever. He held her as her body calmed and, as she recovered herself, her hand encircled him, creating the most wonderful sensations, which drove him mercilessly on to join his flesh with hers, his body moving, driven in response to her tempo like tumbleweed before the wilderness winds. Completion, when it came, was sudden and all-consuming, yet he knew a physical peace as he lay with Grace enfolded his arms, having given and received a love, the like of which, neither had felt before. His lips touched her hair as her fingers caressed his face. They had found their home port at last.


End file.
